The Healer's Gambit
by Melina123
Summary: After the war, Faramir is ready to move forward with his
1. Chapter 1

Nárië 3020 T.A.   
Minas Tirith 

The images came upon him relentlessly, one after the other... white stone falling, striking men below... soft, pained gasps for breath... Nazgûl overhead, their shrieks freezing hearts with sheer terror... a grey boat floating down the Anduin, his brother's dead body inside... a knife covered in blood... a terrifying dash on horseback across an open plain... the pierce of an arrow... flames consuming a huge pyre... screams... 

He awoke with a gasp, his face flushed, his body covered in sweat. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest as he sat up and realized where he was. He was in Minas Tirith, safe in his own bed in the Steward's Chambers. Éowyn was beside him, but he must have disturbed her sleep, for he felt her stir and awaken as he lay down again, trying to calm his breathing. 

"Faramir?" she asked, propping herself on one arm to reach for him. "Another dream?" she said softly, her eyes full of concern. 

He took her hand and kissed it just to remove it from his chest, for he did not want her to feel how frantically his heart continued to pound. "Yes, my love," he said, as calmly as he could manage. "I am sorry I woke you. It was just a dream," he said, willing her to believe the lie. The dreams were utterly terrifying, vivid images of death and fear that plagued him in his sleep and haunted him when he was awake. 

"These dreams torment you, Faramir," she protested softly, "and have for weeks." 

"What would you have me do?" he snapped, immediately regretting the sharpness in his voice. He reached out and stroked her cheek, seeking forgiveness. 

She gave it, turning into his caress for a moment before meeting his eyes once again. "Perhaps if you spoke of it, it would ease your mind," she said softly. 

He could not speak about the dreams, but he did not wish to have this discussion now. "Perhaps," he said, "but not now. It is the middle of the night. Please, go back to sleep." He kissed her gently and wrapped his arms around her, seeking comfort in her presence even as he sought to reassure her. 

But sleep would not come, and as soon as he felt Éowyn's slow, quiet breathing, he slipped carefully from their bed and dressed before leaving their chamber as silently as he was able. 

Perhaps sleep would be easier once they moved to Ithilien, once he was away from the city and all the memories it held for him. But such a change was nearly a year away; Ithilien was still unsafe, and his rangers continued their long labor to clear out dens of orcs. Ground had not yet been broken on their new home in the hills of Emyn Arnen, although careful clearing of the land was progressing under Legolas's watchful supervision. 

Faramir went out into the fountain courtyard, breathing in the fresh air. It would be almost unbearably warm later, but the sun had not yet begun to rise above the Ephel Duath, and it was still cool and pleasant in the predawn darkness. The guards ignored him, as was their wont, and he paid them no mind as he sat on the steps leading to the White Tower. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned into his hands, rubbing his temples, trying to ignore the intrusion of the dream images into his waking mind. 

Instead, he thought of all the work that lay waiting for him, as it had from the moment he had taken up his duties more than a year ago. Rebuilding, refugees, defense, trade, diplomacy, agriculture -- he had some hand in all these matters, whether great or trivial. 

In the first weeks and months after the King's coronation, many great matters lay before them, but decisions relating to such weighty questions had been swiftly made. Now, it seemed, the problems on his table were mostly trivial, mostly matters that could be handled by lower-level administrators. Yet every man in the realm seemed to wish for the King's personal attention to his problem, which meant the problem first came to Faramir. He spent the remainder of his time, such as it was, attempting to order his own realm in Ithilien. He sighed, a part of him wishing for the life of a captain once again, when his responsibilities were his men and his mission, and his days were spent in simple, if dangerous, pursuits. 

Yet he was grateful his duties no longer included writing letters to the loved ones of fallen men, trying to explain the unexplainable: "Your son fought valiantly, and he gave his life in the service of Gondor. There can be no greater sacrifice, nor any more cherished memory, than that which we hold for our fallen..." 

He shuddered, feeling ashamed that the memory brought him such dread. How many such letters had he written in the years leading up to the War? Dozens, hundreds? Too many. Too many dead fathers, brothers, husbands; too many sundered families. 

He tried to set the memories aside, to focus on the day ahead rather than on years past. He might have many trivial matters to address, but he also had much for which he might be grateful. He loved his wife dearly. The king of his childhood dreams had at last returned, and no man greater walked Middle-earth. He had his uncle and cousins, and the new friendships he had found with Éomer and Legolas. All were reasons for happiness, he knew. But since the nightmares had begun, knowing he had many reasons why he should be content seemed only to intensify his inner disquiet. 

Studying the still-dark sky, he rose, determined to complete several hours of paperwork before he joined his wife for breakfast. 

ooooo 

Éowyn sat in the small courtyard outside her sitting room, enjoying the midmorning sun as she reviewed a rather hastily scribbled pile of notes. The hint of a cool breeze remained, yet once the sun reached its zenith, she knew, the air would still and they would be subject to another oppressively warm afternoon. 

She bent her head back to her notes, trying to concentrate, wondering why she had taken this task upon herself. She was awaiting Legolas, who was teaching her to speak and read the Elvish tongue. Despite her new friend's evident gifts as a teacher, she had begun to doubt she would ever master it. 

"Éowyn," Faramir had said a month earlier, taking her in his arms, "You need not do this, if you do not wish to. It is of no matter to me whether you learn the Elf-tongue." 

"It matters to me," she had insisted. "For is not this tongue still spoken among the highborn of Gondor? Are not many of the books in your library written in Elvish?" 

"Indeed, but --" 

"Then I shall learn it, my lord," she had said. She knew there had been many whispers at court that Faramir had erred in choosing a woman of Rohan for a wife rather than one of Númenorean descent. While she despised the prejudice behind the words, and knew Faramir did also, she was determined not to offer any cause for criticism. 

Éowyn's level of book learning far surpassed most of her people, due in large measure to her grandmother, who had come from Gondor herself and brought with her a love of books and scholarship. While Éowyn had mastered reading and writing the common tongue as a child, she had not learned Elvish, preferring to ride and practice martial skills with her brother and cousin.   
But now her life was in Gondor, so she had set herself the task of acquiring an education equal to any lady of the realm. And that required learning Elvish. 

She sighed and returned to her notes, muttering, "_Gohenon, gohenach, gohena, gohenam, gohenach, gohenar..._" 

"There is much _forgiveness_ going on this morning, I see." She blinked, turning to find Queen Arwen standing in the open doorway, a smile on her fair face. 

"My lady..." Éowyn said in surprise, quickly rising. "I did not expect you. Good morning." 

"Good morning," the Queen said. "I am here on Legolas's behalf. Something required his attention in Ithilien this morning, and he left before dawn. He asked if I would come in his stead. May I?" she asked, gesturing to the seat next to Éowyn. 

"Of course!" Éowyn said, returning to her own chair. "But my lady, I'm sure you have more important tasks to attend, and I would not mind forgoing today's lesson..." 

The Queen smiled. "Truly, I have no more pressing matter this morning. Is the prospect of my tutelage so daunting?" she asked. 

"Indeed, no, my lady." Éowyn blushed. In the months since her wedding, she had not often seen the Queen, for as soon as the court had returned from Rohan, she and the King had left for a tour of the southern provinces. She did not know the Queen well, and she could not help but feel unnerved by her beauty and grace. 

"Good, then it is settled," the Queen smiled, looking over at Éowyn's notes. "Verbs, very well. Your present tenses of _goheno_ sounded excellent, would you like to try past?" 

"Yes, my lady," she replied, ready to begin, but the Queen stopped her, placing her hand over Éowyn's own. 

"Would you do me the kindest favor, and call me 'Arwen' when we are not before the court? For I long to be just Arwen again, with someone other than my husband." Their eyes met, and for the first time, Éowyn felt she saw past the Queen's stately grace. She saw someone who was as foreign as she was in Minas Tirith, perhaps moreso; not a queen, but just a woman who needed a friend. 

"I would be honored, Arwen," she said quietly, returning her smile. 

"Let us proceed then," Arwen said briskly, though the warm smile remained on her face. "'I forgave'?" she prompted. 

Éowyn took a deep breath before plunging forward. "_Gohennen, gohennech, gohenn..._" 

The morning flew by, and Éowyn relaxed, enjoying Arwen's easy company as well as the sense that she was progressing. She stretched and yawned. Arwen smiled, raising an eyebrow. 

"_Goheno anim,_" Éowyn said quickly, wondering what had come over her. 

Arwen smiled. "_Gohenon le,"_ and they both laughed. 

"A useful verb, 'to forgive,'" Éowyn mused. 

"Indeed," Arwen replied. "Though not needed here. Are you tired? We should conclude, I think." 

"It is the heat," Éowyn said, for it had grown warmer during the lesson. "And perhaps, yes, I am a bit tired." 

"The best way to learn a language," Arwen said, "is to practice, not just at your lessons, but in speech. Perhaps we should take some refreshment, and then go for a walk, and speak only Elvish? What think you?" 

Éowyn's eyes grew wide, daunted at the thought of holding actual conversation in this strange tongue. But she nodded bravely, hoping she could manage without humiliating herself too badly. 

ooooo 

Their walk was lovely, and it became a ritual in the following days. Several times a week, Éowyn and the Queen -- Arwen -- would walk together, speaking only Elvish. With Arwen's gentle correction, Éowyn was improving rapidly, applying the skills learned during her book lessons. 

Éowyn found she was not only enjoying her lessons more as a result, but she was quickly growing to treasure Arwen's company. She had begun to despair of ever finding a real friend at court, someone with whom she could truly be herself, and she found she longed for such a friend desperately, given the tension at home. 

She loved Faramir, yet she knew something was troubling him terribly. His nightmares had continued unabated, to the point where he was sleeping less and less. Most frustrating of all, he would not speak about the nightmares with her, excusing them as a soldier's postwar legacy. Yet she had spent her life among soldiers, and while she had never shared a bed with one, she did not believe this to be true. 

Thus, she was ever more grateful for Arwen's quiet, assured presence. The differences in their backgrounds, rather than keeping them apart, seemed to draw them together. In addition to their walks, they often found themselves together in one of their sitting rooms with sewing or needlework or some other task upon their laps. While they worked, they shared stories of their people, or spoke of life at court in Minas Tirith. 

One afternoon past midsummer, they were resting after a long walk, sitting together on Arwen's shaded balcony. Arwen did not suffer the heat as she did, Éowyn thought, but even her eyes looked to the west, as if she was willing the sun to begin its descent. 

Éowyn set down her cool drink and yawned, then smiled an apology at Arwen. 

Arwen smiled, but examined her with concern. "Are you well, dear? You have been quite tired in recent days." 

Éowyn was about to excuse the yawn to the heat, but the quiet compassion in Arwen's voice brought tears to her eyes, and as their gaze met, the concern in Arwen's face deepened. 

"What troubles you, Éowyn? Let me share your burdens, if I might." She moved her chair closer, draping an arm around Éowyn's shoulders. 

Éowyn let the tears fall, leaning in to Arwen's gentle embrace. "It is Faramir," she began. "He suffers terrible nightmares, and sleeps little. He will not speak of the dreams, or accept my help in this matter." Her voice was almost flat, even as her tears fell. Arwen wiped them away with a handkerchief as Éowyn told what she knew of the nightmares, which was only that they concerned the war in some respect. 

"Has he spoken to anyone of this?" 

She shook her head. "I think not." 

Arwen sighed. "Would that men could learn to speak of their feelings, and know there is no shame in them. The pride of men knows no bounds, I fear." 

Éowyn nodded. "I worry about him, and soon I leave for Edoras, to help prepare Éomer's wedding. I promised him I would come, for he has no one else, yet I loathe leaving Faramir alone for such a long time." 

"I will keep such an eye on him as I might," Arwen said. 

"Thank you, Arwen. That means a great deal to me." 

She nodded. "And perhaps," she said, "I can think of some manner in which he might be helped, without disturbing his pride too greatly." 

Éowyn smiled wanly. She worried for Faramir, yet it did help to share her burden with a friend. 

ooooo 

The days and weeks slipped by, and Éowyn soon found herself packing for her trip to Edoras. She planned to stay for several months, to oversee the preparations for Éomer's wedding to Faramir's cousin Lothíriel. As much as she looked forward to visiting her home, she regretted her decision to absent herself from Minas Tirith for so long. Despite Arwen's assurances to watch over Faramir, she was worried. He rarely slept more than a few hours each night, and even that rest was often disturbed by dreams. She was torn between her love for her husband and her promise to her brother, and as late as the evening before her departure, she had almost changed her mind. 

She and Faramir were in their sitting room after the evening meal. "Perhaps I should not go," she said. 

Faramir looked up from the report on his lap. "What is this?" he asked. 

"I worry for you, Faramir," she said. "You are exhausted, you work too much, and you barely sleep. How can I leave you thus, and for so long?" 

"Éowyn," he said, meeting her gaze. "You must go. I would not have you break your promise to your brother. He truly needs you." 

"And you do not?" 

He set aside his reading and knelt next to her chair, taking her hand in his. "Of course I need you, my love, but I shall be fine here." He kissed her hand. "You must go. I cannot imagine how Éomer would manage without you." 

Nor could she, Éowyn realized with a sigh. "I wish you could go with me," she said. 

"As do I," Faramir agreed. "But you know it is impossible, between the Steward's office and all that must be done if we are to move to Emyn Arnen next spring. But I will be there for the wedding, this I promise." 

He moved into the chair, shifting her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her. Éowyn leaned into the embrace, soothed by his presence, although her concern remained. She hated feeling helpless more than anything in the world, especially when it came to those she loved. But she had made a promise to her brother, and she must keep it. 


	2. Chapter 2

Several weeks after Éowyn's departure, the Council of Gondor was in session. Faramir tried not to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Despite the chamber's considerable size, high ceilings and wide windows facing east toward the Anduin, the room was nonetheless oppressively warm. The heat did nothing to help cool the tempers of the king's councilors, for the discussion that afternoon was a tense one. Several of the older councilors were urging Aragorn to consider breaking the peace and invading Harad. 

"It is a preemptive measure," Lord Hathol of Sirith Vale argued. "For surely as soon as they can rebuild their forces, they will make war on us once again." 

"What is the purpose of this invasion, then?" Prince Imrahil asked. "For we can defeat Harad's military and destroy its ability to make war for a time, yet it can still rebuild and seek war with us anew." 

"Indeed," replied Forloth, the Lord of Lossarnach. "We should not merely invade Harad, but conquer it, and claim it for Gondor." 

And so the debate was joined. Faramir glanced at the King, who listened intently but without comment. It was his custom to let his councilors thoroughly debate any issue of importance before speaking himself, so as not to unduly influence their views. Faramir waited until the other lords who wished to do so had spoken, availing himself of the Steward's privilege of speaking last. 

When the others' eyes were upon him, Faramir drew a deep breath, and spoke in a quiet yet emphatic tone none in the council chamber had heard before. "I have listened to the arguments in favor of this endeavor carefully. We could destroy Harad's military once and for all," he said, nodding at Lord Hathol. "We could add a valuable fief to Gondor, share in its resources, and trade without paying the Haradrim tariffs that support its military," he glanced at Lord Forloth. "Further," he said, "We could free Harad's people from its brutal rulers, and they would enjoy the lordship of Gondor, with its fairness and traditions of justice." 

"And yet, my lords, I must wonder -- can it be that we have learned nothing?" His voice was quiet, yet filled with intensity, and every eye in the room was squarely upon him. 

"Can it be that once again Men of Numénorean blood would assert their will on foreign peoples, bringing not friendship and knowledge, but conquest? Indeed, we may sit in our tower and hold ourselves superior, of higher learning, and say to ourselves that we desire nothing but peace and prosperity, and to bring such values to other lands. But did not the kings of Numénor once say the same, while becoming the very dictators they claimed to despise? Did not such beliefs lead to their estrangement from the Eldar, and from the Lords of the West themselves? How could the children of Numénor's exiles consider following a similar path? How could we believe it would result in anything other than more war and death?" 

He looked once again at the lords supporting the proposal. Several would not meet his gaze, while others wore expressions of open hostility. He met their eyes evenly. "Even were our motives beyond all reproach," he continued, "we must surely consider the terrible cost of such an endeavor. For a terrible cost we would indeed pay, my lords. Harad will not bow to any foreign king, and we would be forced to keep thousands of soldiers quartered there, in a land far away from home and kin, sacrificing many lives to put down what would surely be a constant state of rebellion. This generation has suffered the loss of enough fathers and sons and brothers, has it not? How many lives would you sacrifice for this conquest, Lord Hathol?" 

"There are always lives lost in war," he replied, glaring at Faramir. 

"Indeed," Faramir said coldly. "And perhaps that, more than aught else, should remind us that war should be our last resort, not our first." He felt his voice tighten in his throat, and inhaled deeply. "By your leave, my lord King," he said, turning to Aragorn. 

Aragorn nodded. "I see the reasons for your proposal, Lord Hathol, yet I agree with the Steward and others who have spoken in opposition. The conquest of Harad would be too costly and require too many resources, and all of those are needed in our own lands at this time. While I will not hesitate to go to war if our security is threatened, I will not seek conquest for conquest's sake. Prince Faramir's words on where such designs have led our people before are wise." As the King paused, Faramir glanced around the table. The proponents of Lord Hathol's plan were disappointed, yet seemed satisfied enough with the King's response. "Given the hour and the oppressive weather, I think we shall adjourn. I thank you all." 

Aragorn swept out of the chamber with Faramir beside him, as was their custom. Once outside, Aragorn asked, "How fare you, Faramir?" 

"My lord?" he asked. "Aragorn," he corrected, for the King had asked him to address him by his given name when away from court and council. 

"You seemed... not quite yourself, as you spoke," he observed. 

Faramir shrugged. "I am a bit tense, perhaps, from the long day inside the chamber." His answer was carefully phrased for accuracy, but not precision, for he would not bother the King with his trivial concerns. In truth, this had been a long day in a series of long days, followed by rather miserable nights. Without Éowyn's presence requiring him to maintain the pretense of sleep, he had nearly given up the attempt altogether. 

"After the sun sets, join Legolas and me in the practice grounds for a bit of exercise, then?" Aragorn asked as he turned towards the King's House. 

Faramir was about to beg off when he saw Aragorn's expression, and thought the better of it, nodding. "Aye, after sunset," he said, turning toward his own chambers. 

ooooo 

Aragorn watched Faramir leave, regarding him with some concern. He had heard rumblings of gossip from the chamberlain's staff that the Prince had not been himself as of late, but short-tempered and irritable. He wondered whether Faramir felt overburdened, overseeing the vast work involved in restoring Gondor while establishing his own realm in Ithilien. 

Perhaps he had laid too much at Faramir's feet, but Aragorn had quickly grown to rely on him, not only for his knowledge of Minas Tirith and its bureaucratic structure, but for his sound judgment, and his warm, unassuming companionship. He was lighting his pipe, considering whether adding more staff might lighten Faramir's burden, when Imrahil approached. 

The Prince of Dol Amroth was, as ever, genial and friendly. He was one of Aragorn's closest advisors and most valued friends, and he was pleased to see him outside the council chamber. "Good afternoon, my lord," he said with a smile. "I see you are still banished from the indoors when your pipe is lit." 

He grinned. "Indeed. The Queen is not overly fond of this particular vice." He saw Imrahil's smile fade after a moment, and wondered what was on his mind. "What troubles you, my friend?" 

"Did you speak to Faramir after the meeting?" he asked. 

"I did." 

"How seemed he to you?" Aragorn could not help but notice the tension in the Prince's voice. 

"Somewhat out of sorts," he said. "He claimed he was tense from the long day, but I wonder whether I have not asked too much of him," Aragorn admitted. 

"He did not seem himself in the Council chamber. The manner in which he spoke was curious, and most unlike him." 

Aragorn nodded. He remembered something the Lady Galadriel had said, in a rare quiet moment after his wedding. She had seen Faramir across the courtyard, then she said to him, "Mind your young prince, Elessar. You retrieved him from the darkness, yet a shadow lingers, though I know not whence it comes." He had acknowledged her words despite his surprise, for at the time, Faramir had appeared to be full of joy and renewed hope. It had been so easy, given the burdens upon both of them, to let her words slip from his mind. He chastised himself for a fool, for what else could one be called who ignored the Lady's warnings? 

"Have you noticed aught before, my lord Prince?" 

With a nod, Imrahil said, "Indeed. He dined with me last evening, and he was far quieter than I have seen him since the war. He misses his wife, I think, but something more is amiss." 

Nodding, Aragorn said, "I will speak with him this evening. Perhaps he will unburden himself." 

"I cannot help but worry for him," Imrahil said, his face shadowed with concern. "He is all that is left to me of my sister, and I love him as my own." 

"I know, my friend," he said, sharing the Prince's concern. Aragorn turned the conversation to other matters as they walked toward Imrahil's house on the city's seventh circle, all the while considering how he might approach Faramir. 

ooooo 

The practice ground was usually deserted at this time of day, but as Faramir approached just after sunset, he heard the sound of laughter on the air. Legolas and Aragorn were on the archery range, and though he was some distance away, Legolas turned as he entered the field. 

"Good evening, Faramir!" Legolas called cheerfully. "Come, and enjoy witnessing your liege lord bested." 

Faramir smiled as he heard Aragorn snort in response, even as he waved a hand to Faramir in greeting. Faramir walked across the practice ground, the torches along the surrounding walls already burning brightly, though full darkness had not yet come. 

Aragorn and Legolas continued to let fly at their targets, Legolas nocking two arrows for each of Aragorn's, his elegant bow singing. The King was dressed in his ranger gear, Faramir saw, which was not all that different from the rangers of Ithilien, although Aragorn's had apparently seen more wear than most. His bow was shorter than the man-height longbow used by Faramir and his rangers; it lacked the range of the Ithilien bow, but it was a lighter draw and could be used more readily from horseback. 

Faramir set down his own bow, quiver and practice sword as he neared Aragorn, looking across the field at their targets as he and Legolas continued to empty their quivers. The King, he knew, was a good shot, but his competitor was one of the finest archers on Middle-earth, and had the advantage of the lighter yet more powerful elven bow -- not to mention centuries of experience, and an Elf's keen sight and remarkable speed. 

Within moments, both quivers were empty, and Legolas smirked as they gazed at their targets. Though he had shot twice as many arrows as the King, Legolas's arrows were unquestionably clustered more closely at the center of the target than Aragorn's. 

The King studied the targets, furrowing his brow. "What think you, Faramir?" he asked. 

Faramir considered a moment before speaking. "I think it was a noble effort, my lord, against a most formidable opponent." 

Legolas laughed, and Aragorn smiled at Faramir. "Indeed," he said, clapping Faramir on the shoulder. 

"You owe me a forfeit," Legolas said mercilessly. 

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "I like it better when you and Gimli are the ones playing such games. When does he return?" 

"After the wedding. He shall meet us in Edoras," Legolas said with a smile of his own, before running across the green to retrieve his arrows, and Aragorn's, too. 

Aragorn turned back to Faramir. "How are you this evening?" 

"Very well," he answered, hoping his voice did not betray his fatigue. 

"I know it was a long afternoon," Aragorn said, "but I hoped some exercise might relieve the day's tension." He nodded, reaching for his bow and quiver, and Aragorn continued, "Perhaps you should warm up on the archery field, while I try to reclaim my forfeit from the Elf? For he promised me," he said, as Legolas returned with two quivers of arrows, "that he would spar tonight with a sword, rather than his knives." 

Legolas wrinkled his nose. "I must have been under the influence of the King's excellent wine when I made that promise," he said, taking a practice sword from Aragorn. Aragorn winked at Faramir as he followed the Elf to the fencing pitch, a few yards away from the archery field. 

Faramir tuned out the sounds of the shallow clanking of the practice swords against each other as he attempted to banish his fatigue and slow his breathing. He was back in Ithilien, lying in wait for his prey, focusing his mind on the target. He nocked and drew, ignoring the vague pain in his shoulder, then let fly, his arrow unerringly finding its target. He emptied his quiver, then studied the target with some satisfaction before retrieving his arrows. He rotated his shoulder experimentally, then went to join the King and Legolas, who were sparring with unreserved pleasure. 

Faramir sat on the bench facing the pitch, absently massaging his shoulder as he watched the two great warriors circle each other. Legolas was undoubtedly swifter, but he was fighting with a full-length practice broadsword rather than his beloved long knives. They teased each other as each sought the advantage. After long minutes of successfully blocked blows, Aragorn finally slipped in under Legolas's guard, and shot out a leg to trip him as he tried to back away. Within a moment, Legolas was disarmed and flat on his back with Aragorn's blade at his throat. 

"I reclaim my forfeit," Aragorn said with a grin, reaching out a hand to help his friend rise. 

Legolas accepted defeat with good grace, smiling as he took the offered hand. "Shall we go again, with knives this time, perhaps?" he asked. 

"Nay, Faramir came for exercise, perhaps it is time he had some," said Aragorn, lifting his sword in a salute and mock challenge. Legolas nodded and left the pitch, seating himself on the grass just beyond. 

Faramir rose and joined Aragorn on the pitch. He had sparred with Aragorn before and knew he was clearly outclassed in swordsmanship, just as he could best the King with a bow. He usually enjoyed their spars, and valued the advice Aragorn offered. If only he weren't so tired tonight, he could enjoy this time with the King. 

He shrugged his shoulder experimentally as he moved around the pitch, trying to chase away the soreness that had manifested during his work with the bow. 

"Is your shoulder bothering you?" Aragorn asked. 

He shook his head. "A bit sore. Nothing of concern," he demurred. 

Aragorn nodded. "Shall we, then?" 

And so they began. Each of them tested the other as they moved about the pitch, feinting, watching, seeking an opening in the other's guard. Their speed increased as they sought to repel each other's attacks, and Faramir felt his fatigue grow. If not for fear of disappointing the King, he would have begged leave, but he pressed on. The spar went on, their practice swords ringing in the warm evening air. 

Faramir shook sweat from his eyes, and when he opened them again, his heart began to pound, his blood surging through his veins. The Haradrim were right behind him, their horses' hooves pounding furiously against the ground. He was confused for a moment -- he had not been on the Pelennor a moment before, had he? He swung his sword mercilessly at his opponent, a fell warrior of Harad wielding two curved blades... 

"Faramir! Faramir!" 

One strong arm shook his shoulder, and the other held his sword wrist tightly in its grasp as he blinked to clear his vision. He was on one knee, and Legolas was at his side, holding him firmly. He panted, trying to regain his breath, and he then he looked down, and realized the tip of his practice sword was at the King's throat.   



	3. Chapter 3

Aragorn was vaguely stunned by the speed with which Faramir had suddenly come after him, and was even more surprised by the blow to his stomach, which knocked the wind from him. He was suddenly on his back, with Faramir's blade against his neck. Aragorn only had to look at Faramir's eyes, gone wide and nearly black, to realize he was not himself. Legolas was there not a moment later, restraining Faramir's sword arm and calling his name. 

He knew immediately when Faramir returned from whatever waking nightmare he had experienced, for his eyes cleared. He began to shake as he realized what had happened, and he fell onto the pitch on his knees, his sword dropping from nerveless fingers. 

"Faramir!" Aragorn called, reaching for him, but Legolas was already at his side. 

"He's unconscious!" he said, rolling Faramir onto his back. 

Aragorn checked his breathing and heartbeat, and then pressed the back of his hand to Faramir's forehead, his healer's instincts taking over. "He's feverish," he muttered, cursing himself a fool for the second time that day. "Let's get him to the Citadel." 

ooooo 

Arwen heard strands of the tale as her husband and Legolas brought Faramir into the King's House, settling him on a bed in the guest quarters. While Legolas told her what had happened, Aragorn issued the brisk, no-nonsense orders of a healer on urgent business, sending servants to bring him hot water, cloths, and the leather bag that held his herbs and other supplies. He was about to send another with a summons to fetch the Prince of Dol Amroth, but Legolas offered to go, and with a grateful nod from Aragorn, he departed immediately. 

She sat on the other side of the bed from her husband, examining Faramir while Aragorn ground herbs in a bowl. After she checked his breathing and color, she closed her eyes a moment as she touched his forehead, reaching out with her other senses as her father had taught her. 

Aragorn met her eyes, his own full of concern. "What think you?" 

"His fever is mild, husband. He may have fainted more from the shock of what happened than aught else," she said. "But his mind is unquiet, and he is exhausted." 

He touched the back of his hand to Faramir's forehead and nodded. 

Arwen thought a moment longer of her promise to keep Éowyn's confidence, and hoped she would be forgiven. Even if she were not, Faramir's well-being was more important than being forsworn. "He has been suffering nightmares, Aragorn," she said quietly. "And sleeping little." 

Aragorn looked at her steadily, waiting as she continued. "Éowyn spoke to me in confidence, and I have been keeping as best an eye as I could on him in her absence. I have heard of no waking nightmares, though he sleeps little." 

He nodded. "I understand her wish, and your promise. But I wish I had known. And I know not what to do now, other than to treat the fever, however mild." 

"I wrote to Grandmother," Arwen said. "Asking what might be done to help a warrior suffering from such nightmares, one who had already been stricken with the Black Breath. I sent the letter through Elladan, and received her response only today. She might be able to help, she says, were we to bring him to Lórien." 

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Did you name the warrior on whose behalf you inquired?" 

She shook her head. "Though that means little." 

"Indeed." 

Faramir's eyes blinked open then, and he glanced around, clearly confused. His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were clear, and Arwen's concern for him eased. 

"Rest easy, Faramir, you are in our guest quarters," Aragorn said quietly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. 

"What happened?" he asked in a raspy voice, his eyes darting to each of them. Aragorn poured a cup of water, and slid a hand behind Faramir's neck to support him as he drank before gently lowering his head to the pillow once again. Arwen smiled at her husband's gentle healer's manner. 

"We..." Aragorn considered. "We had a mishap on the fencing pitch, and you fell unconscious for a time. You have a mild fever, and appear to be exhausted." 

Dawning realization came into Faramir's eyes, and then the flushed color drained completely from his face. "I attacked you! I could have hurt you! It was... treason!" He tried without success to move away, as if afraid his presence might hurt Aragorn. 

He grasped Faramir's arm, shaking his head. "Nonsense. You were not yourself. We were using practice swords, and no damage was done." 

Arwen could see that Aragorn's words were unpersuasive. Practice swords had their edges blunted, but they were nonetheless heavy and potentially dangerous. Her heart reached out to Faramir, and she wished Éowyn were there. 

Aragorn gazed at Faramir steadily. "I will hear no more of this. Here," he said, handing him a cup of hot liquid, "Drink this. It will reduce the fever, and help you to sleep." 

Faramir began to protest, but was swiftly forestalled. "Must I command it?" Aragorn asked. "Drink," he said, handing Faramir the cup. 

They watched as Faramir drank the tea without further argument. "We will speak later," Aragorn said. "Rest now, and I beg you, do not torment yourself further." 

Silently, he nodded, and Arwen saw the strong herbal concoction beginning to take effect, his eyes heavy as he settled into the bed. Aragorn's eyes caught hers, and she pressed a kiss to Faramir's forehead before following her husband into the adjacent sitting room. 

Legolas and Prince Imrahil were already present. Imrahil was deeply concerned, relaxing only slightly as Aragorn told him of Faramir's condition and the nightmares he had been experiencing. 

"I should have kept a closer eye upon him," Imrahil said. "I might have suspected he would become battle weary, but he seemed to flourish so well in the days after the war." 

Aragorn nodded. "I am beginning to suspect he was simply too occupied, at first." 

"And he was in love," Arwen added, though she agreed with her husband's assessment. 

"Should we send for Éowyn?" Legolas asked. 

"Not if we are going to Lothlórien," Aragorn said, and then explained to Imrahil and Legolas about the Lady's letter. "The wedding is only six weeks hence. If we leave at once, and can find Faramir the help he needs, we can go directly from there to Edoras." 

Arwen smiled at Aragorn's matter-of-fact statement, but was not surprised. Indeed, she would have been surprised if Aragorn had not insisted on taking Faramir to Lórien himself. He cared for the prince deeply, and probably held himself to blame for his condition, at least in part. 

"I would see him there myself," said Imrahil, "but the wedding makes that impossible. Perhaps it should be postponed." 

"Faramir would be dismayed," Legolas observed, "should word of this become public." 

Aragorn nodded. "We should prevent that, if we can." He considered a moment. "I think, perhaps, that Faramir merely wishes to fulfill a lifelong dream to visit Lórien, and I wished to visit once more myself, and cement our ties with East Lórien." 

"And I decided to travel with my friends, and visit my kin," added Legolas. Arwen smiled at him warmly, grateful for his support. 

Aragorn reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips. She gave him a reassuring squeeze in return. "You will not mind traveling to Edoras with the Prince's party?" 

She beamed a smile at Imrahil, whom she adored. "Of course not, my love. I would see Faramir well again, for his sake, and Éowyn's, and for all those who love him." 

Thus plans were made to depart the day after next, if Faramir was well enough -- tomorrow, Legolas would arrange their horses and gear while Aragorn would undertake what would surely be a rather unpleasant interview with Lord Húrin. He did not particularly approve when Aragorn went riding for an afternoon without his guard; he would surely be horrified that he planned a journey of more than three hundred leagues without an armed escort. 

"It is safe enough," Aragorn said. "We will travel along the road, then cross-country through Rohan. Éomer's riders have been busy ridding the Mark of every orc between the mountains and the Anduin." 

The others merely raised eyebrows, aware this argument would hold little sway with Húrin. Aragorn shrugged. "We are going, and we must travel swift and light, and keep Faramir's troubles in our confidence. Húrin may not approve, but in the end, he has little say in the matter." 

ooooo 

Later that night, Aragorn closed his eyes and tried to rest, but sleep would not come. If the Lady was unable to help... 

"You are troubled," Arwen whispered in his ear. 

Aragorn turned onto his back to face her. "I am sorry, my love, I do not wish to disturb your rest." 

"You worry for him," she said. She did not need to say to whom she referred. 

"I do," he admitted. "I have seen men come undone at far less than he has suffered. And I am saddened that he did not seek our aid before this." 

"He feared you would think less of him." 

"I know." Aragorn sighed. "What saddens me is that he does not know that I would not." 

She combed her fingers through his hair as she gazed steadily into his eyes. "You mean so much to him, I think, that he could not bear to lose your good opinion." 

"At times," he said, "I wish he would see me more as a man, and less as the King out of prophecy." 

"You fear losing him as you lost his brother." 

"He has suffered too much already, and deserves peace," he said, "I would help him heal, if I can." 

"If anyone can help him, my love, you can, with Grandmother's aid." She leaned over to kiss him lightly, and he wrapped his arms around her. "You must keep that hope in your heart on this long journey." 

"I will miss you terribly," he murmured, tracing the line of her ear with his fingertips. 

She shivered pleasurably. "As I will miss you. But you are always in my heart." 

"As you are in mine, wherever I go." He smiled as he reached for her, his heart lighter than it had been before. 

ooooo 

Faramir awoke and glanced around, taking in his surroundings. As he remembered what had happened the previous night, he was torn between the desire to flee and the urge to pull the covers over his head and retreat into blissful unconsciousness. He had not dreamt, for the first time in many nights, then he recalled the sleeping draught Aragorn had given him. 

_Aragorn_. Faramir had attacked him on the practice ground, yet he had been so patient and kind the prior evening. Shame and regret welled up in his chest, forcing a sigh to expel the heaviness. Aragorn should see him as someone reliable, unswerving in his loyalty and devotion; he did not want to be the kind of disappointment to Aragorn that he had been to his father. 

He remembered the day of Aragorn's coronation before the gates of Minas Tirith. He had not known Aragorn's mind when he offered him the rod of the Steward's office; he had thought, perhaps, that the role of his house had ended, and that Aragorn might wish one of his own men of the north to serve in Faramir's stead. But Aragorn had been unswerving and steadfast, both on the field and later, in the great hall, where the senior nobles of Gondor had assembled. 

As Steward, Faramir had been the first to approach the King, and he had knelt before Aragorn, the hilt of his sword clasped between his hands. Aragorn's hands were a warm and reassuring presence as they covered his, yet his heart was pounding, and it was not because the eyes of Gondor's nobility were upon him. _The King out of legend is returned,_ he had thought. _He is truly here. I have dreamed of this moment, but never believed it would come to pass._

Thus it required all of Faramir's concentration to keep his voice steady as he swore the oath: "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the King of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor." 

But Aragorn's voice was clear and certain, ringing with vigor and confidence. "And this do I hear, Faramir, son of Denethor, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: valor with honor, oath-breaking with justice, fealty with love." His voice was so warm and affectionate that Faramir could not help but lift his eyes to the King's face, and his glance was met with a kind smile as the King completed the oath: "So say I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor." 

Faramir felt the sincerity behind the words, and had reflected that this public and joyous exchange of oaths could not have been more different than the somber and private occasion on which he had sworn fealty to his father upon receiving his military commission. Aragorn lifted him to his feet after he finished speaking, and once Faramir had sheathed his sword, he grasped Faramir's arm in a warrior's clasp, his grey eyes shining and merry. Days later, Aragorn had elevated Faramir from servant of royalty to royalty himself, and he had never in his life felt more blessed or honored, save when Éowyn had agreed to marry him. 

But now... Faramir's eyes closed as the memory of joy and pride was replaced by shame. He was a disappointment -- a battle-weary former warrior unable to control his mind's misery. 

He started a bit as the door opened, and his heart surged with regret as Aragorn entered. 

"Good morning, my friend," Aragorn said warmly. "How fare you today?" He pulled a chair to the bedside and sat, taking Faramir's wrist in one hand while pressing the other against his forehead. 

"I am well, my lord," Faramir said, his voice unconvincing even to himself. 

"Indeed," Aragorn replied wryly, pressing Faramir's hand gently as he released his wrist. "Your feverishness seems to have abated, but I imagine you are weary. Is that not so?" 

"My lord, why are you here?" he asked. "Surely you could have sent for a healer from the Houses..." 

"But I am a healer, my lord Prince," he said, echoing Faramir's formality in a slightly amused tone. "And I am also the King, which is a fortunate happenstance when dealing with particularly stubborn patients." He studied Faramir pointedly. "I am also most circumspect when treating patients who would not have word of any infirmity, temporary though it might be, become common knowledge." 

That had not occurred to Faramir. "I thank you for that... my lord... Aragorn," he corrected. 

Aragorn inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "I know of your dreams," he said. Faramir was not surprised, though he did not know how Aragorn had learned of them. "Why did you not tell me of this, Faramir? At the least, I might have helped you sleep." 

"You are the King," he said. "You bear too many burdens. As Steward, I am supposed to help you bear them, not add my own." 

"Are we not friends as well as liege and vassal?" Faramir blinked at Aragorn's sad tone. "I had hoped we were." 

"Of course, and I value your friendship dearly," Faramir said, with a new understanding of just how true that was. 

Aragorn sighed. "Then if we are friends, Faramir, I would have you trust me as you would a friend, and ask when you need aid." 

"I regret that I did not." 

"Do not regret," he said. "But do let me help you." Aragorn told him then of Éowyn's confidence to Arwen, and what had followed, along with his plan to seek help in Lothlórien. Faramir agreed, feeling hope in his heart that a way might be found to end the nightmares' torment. 

"Lothlórien," Faramir murmured. "You might as well tell me we are going to Doriath, or Gondolin." 

Aragorn laughed then. "Would that we could, my friend, would that we could."   



	4. Chapter 4

Yavannië 3020 T.A.   
Lothlórien 

The trip was long and fairly strenuous as they tried to make good speed. After leaving the road just west of Rohan's border, they had traveled cross-country, fording the Entwash and traveling north through the East Emnet and the Wold, skirting the eastern border of Fangorn Forest. Aragorn could not help but recall his last journey through this part of Rohan, hunting the Uruk-Hai who held Merry and Pippin captive. This journey was not quite as desperate, but its outcome was no less important to him. 

Faramir was still quite exhausted, and the long hours of riding in the heat each day did not help. He took the sleeping draught Aragorn prepared each night, and it helped him sleep, but left him poorly rested the next morning. Aragorn was grateful for Legolas's calm, assured presence as well as his help, for he took on most of the routine tasks of the journey, leaving Aragorn time to closely watch Faramir. 

Aragorn's words about the safety of the journey had proved true, and they had only fatigue and travel-weariness to contend with as they pressed north. But the travelers' spirits rose even as they completed the soggy task of fording the Limlight, for they knew their journey was nearing an end. Still, when they reached the borders of Lórien at dusk on the twelfth day, Aragorn sighed with relief. 

But as they entered the forest, Aragorn immediately sensed that something was different. On the border, there were burnt trees, the scars of the war Dol Guldur had waged against the Elves even as Aragorn's forces had fought at the Black Gate. Yet the change Aragorn felt was more profound than blackened trees scarring the landscape. 

Soon after they crossed into the forest, they were met by border guards, who were not surprised to see them. "Well met," said their leader, who introduced himself as Edrahil. "The Lady is expecting you." 

Once past the border region, the land had been cleansed, and the mellyrn bloomed. The forest was still beautiful, yet it was different than it had been. He glanced over at his companions. Legolas noticed the changes too, his eyes reflecting his uncertainty. But Faramir, despite his fatigue, was clearly enchanted, studying the land around him with wonder. Aragorn smiled at his friend's pleasure. 

As they climbed the winding staircase in Caras Galadhon, Aragorn realized that the air of magic Lórien had always held felt diminished. It was still a fair forest, one of the most beautiful places on Middle-earth. But it was no longer a place where a Man felt as if he had stumbled through the mists and into Valinor itself, for it was no longer protected by a Ring of Power. 

The Elf-woman who had once wielded that ring greeted them on a high talan. Aragorn and Legolas bowed, hands over their hearts, and Faramir did likewise. Galadriel greeted Aragorn silently, and he nodded in acknowledgment, before turning her eyes to his companions. She smiled at Legolas briefly, then turned to Faramir. He managed to hold her gaze for a few moments before dropping his eyes. Ring or not, she was still the oldest of her kind in Middle-earth, and she carried enormous power. Aragorn remembered the tale of how she had thrown down the walls of Dol Guldur with nothing but her will to aid her. 

"You are welcome here, Faramir, son of Denethor," she said. An Elf approached, and Galadriel gestured to him. "Go and rest," she said, addressing Faramir and Legolas. "Your King shall join you shortly, and your needs shall be seen to meanwhile." 

Faramir glanced at Aragorn, and he gave a slight nod. Faramir bowed to Galadriel again, and followed Legolas and their escort from the talan. 

Once they were gone, Galadriel gestured to Aragorn, and he followed her to an open sitting area. Refreshments were brought, and they spoke quietly of Gondor and Arwen. 

"Arwen wrote to me of your young Prince's troubles," Galadriel said at last. "I had no easy answers to offer, for I could not know the nature of his condition without looking upon him." 

"And now that you have?" he asked. 

Galadriel hesitated, the first time Aragorn could ever recall seeing her react so. "It is difficult to say whether he suffers from memories of battle, or whether some remnant of the darkness truly remains within him. I see only the shadow." 

Aragorn's heart fell, for Galadriel had truly been their best hope of finding peace for his friend. 

"Do not despair, Elessar," she said. "If his dreams are the symptom, there is a way we might learn what ails him." She told him silently what she had in mind. 

"Enter his dreams?" Aragorn said. 

"'Tis is not a simple task, and it may be dangerous for you. He could draw you into his terror, or the darkness itself could seek to trap you. You must be truly asleep, not conscious as you were when you helped those under the touch of the Black Breath. Yet I deem you are the only one who could do this, for your minds have touched before, and that will make entering his mind easier." 

"I must try," Aragorn said. "The dreams plague him. But he tells me the nightmares are quick, moving from one memory to the next almost too fast to comprehend." 

"The draught we will prepare will allow him to wrest control, as long as the images are from his own mind, and not a trick of the darkness." Galadriel watched as he nodded in response. "Then we shall do this on the morrow, Elessar. Go and rest, and then you must explain to him, for he must agree to try. He must trust you enough to allow you to follow him into his deepest fears." 

ooooo 

Aragorn entered the talan to which he had been escorted and glanced about. It was similar to those he had stayed in during past visits, with a curtained entryway from the stair into an outer room. Like all talans, it was open to the air, with walls defining the space, but leaving large open windows on each side. The billowy curtains covering them were stirred by the light breeze. 

The outer room was arranged with a sofa, table and chairs, and a sideboard on which a tray of refreshments lay. Another curtained entry led to a bed chamber, he knew. Legolas waited for him in the outer room, and gestured to the bedroom as he told Aragorn that Faramir had already gone to bed. 

"They asked if we wanted separate chambers, but I thought you would wish to be close by," Legolas said. 

Aragorn nodded, pouring himself a cup of water as he told Legolas what Galadriel had proposed. 

"Are you sure you wish to attempt this, Aragorn?" Legolas's voice betrayed his concern. 

He nodded. "I must try." Aragorn pulled back the curtain and looked through the doorway into the bedroom. Faramir appeared to be resting easily. He raised an eyebrow at Legolas. 

"Aye, he drank the sleeping draught. He was very weary." 

"I doubt it not," he said, sinking into a cushioned chair as he took the plate of food Legolas offered. They sat in silence for awhile, and Aragorn contemplated what he and Faramir would face the next day. He knew Faramir was strong enough to defeat any evil that came from without -- he had proved that already. But his own demons might prove a more daunting challenge. 

"Aragorn..." Legolas's voice shook him from his thoughts. The Elf's eyes were dark and narrow with concern. 

"I must try, Legolas," Aragorn preempted his objections. "I cannot -- if this is the only way he can be helped, I must try." 

Legolas's features softened as he heard the worry in Aragorn's voice. "I know he is special to you," he said gently. 

"He has given so much of himself, with so little in return," he said. "I would give him the peace he deserves." 

He only hoped he would be able to help Faramir banish the darkness once and for all. 

ooooo 

The next morning after breakfast, Aragorn explained what Galadriel had proposed. He omitted mention of any possible danger to himself, ignoring Legolas's gaze as he concluded. 

"What will happen, precisely?" Faramir asked. He was pale, and did not appear to have slept well, despite the sleeping draught. 

"You and I will each drink a draught the Lady prepares for us, then we will simply go to sleep. It will help us to control what happens once we begin to dream." 

"But if I can control it..." Faramir looked at Aragorn, confused. 

"Aye," Aragorn said. "You will have to choose to let the dreams come. I know it will be difficult, but you must. But not until I am there with you. Then we can see if the dreams are yours, or if they are the product of some fell influence." 

"How will I find you?" 

"You must look for the bridge, Faramir. I will be there waiting. You must take my hand, and invite me to enter. If you do not, I cannot follow." 

Faramir was still wary. "What can you do to stop the dreams, if they are mine, or to defeat this evil, if they are not?" 

Aragorn gazed at him long and hard for a moment. "Truthfully, I know not. I trust that my instincts will lead me down the right path. I must ask you to do the same." 

"Of course I trust you," Faramir said. "I am grateful for all you have done." 

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Galadriel, with two Elves following behind her. They went to the sleeping area to begin their preparations, and Legolas drew Aragorn aside. 

"You should have told him," Legolas said. 

"To what end?" Aragorn replied. "If he felt there was any danger to me at all, he would have refused." 

"Perhaps not unwisely," Legolas pressed. "You are a King now, Aragorn. You have duties greater than the well-being of one man, no matter how dear he is to you." 

Aragorn met Legolas's gaze for a long moment. "If I cannot protect those most dear to me out of a greater duty to my kingdom, then I no longer wish to be King." He squeezed Legolas's shoulder affectionately. "Do not fear, my friend. We have both survived far greater dangers." 

Legolas sighed. "Be safe, Aragorn." 

"I will." With a smile, he went to join the others in the sleeping area. 

Two of the beds had been drawn next to each other, and one of the Elves was pulling curtains around the edge of the flet, shutting out the sun streaming through the leaves. 

Faramir was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, and Aragorn sat on the other, pulling off his boots. Galadriel's eyes met his, asking if he was certain he wished to proceed. He nodded almost imperceptibly in response. 

"Elessar has explained all to you, Faramir?" 

He nodded. "Aye, my lady." 

"Very well," she replied. "You must be at ease, as much as you might, and allow the draught to work. Do not resist. I will be here, watching over you, as you sleep." The Elf behind her handed Galadriel two cups, and she handed one to each of them. Aragorn drank, and Faramir did likewise. The draught was not unpleasant, tasting of mint. 

Galadriel watched as they lay back on the pillows, then sat on the edge of Faramir's bed and took his hand. "_Losto a no mae,_" she whispered as she kissed his forehead, wishing that he might sleep, and be well. Faramir smiled, his face relaxing as the draught began to take effect. 

Aragorn smiled too as he watched his friend ease into sleep. Galadriel began to sing as he shut his own eyes; the sound was sweet, and lulled him easily into slumber.   



	5. Chapter 5

When Aragorn opened his eyes again, he was standing in a mist. He felt awake and alert, and he glanced around quickly, taking in his surroundings, for he knew he must find the bridge without delay. As he thought of it, the mist ahead of him began to clear, and he saw one side of a low-arched bridge. Walking towards it, he looked down at himself -- he was not wearing the clothes he had been in Lothlórien. His tunic and trousers were silk and velvet, and he wore no sword belt or weapon. 

He walked quickly toward the bridge, searching for Faramir, but he saw no one. He stepped onto the bridge, but the mists still shrouded the far side. "Faramir!" he called. "Faramir! Seek the bridge!" 

He continued calling, and what felt like hours passed. Aragorn had almost begun to despair when he finally saw Faramir through the mists on the far side of the bridge. He was dressed as an Ithilien ranger, but like Aragorn, he bore no weapons. 

Relieved to see Faramir, Aragorn started towards him, then stopped when he saw that Faramir's eyes were wide and dark, as they had been on the practice ground. 

"_Reniathon ed vi ely naden gurth nín_," Faramir murmured. 

Aragorn stilled a shudder at Faramir's words: _In dreams until my death I will wander on._ He was fey, apparently unaware of who Aragorn was or why he was there. 

Aragorn considered what he should do as Faramir continued to whisper to himself. He decided to reply in kind. "Faramir!" he called, and the dark eyes fixed upon him. "_Im mellon. Im Aragorn. Lasto beth nín. Ratho ed a le tegithon_." He watched, hoping his words had reached his friend. _I'm a friend. I'm Aragorn. Hear my voice. Reach out and I will guide you. _Aragorn held out his hand, and Faramir's head canted slightly to the side, as if he were deciding what to do. Then his hand lifted slowly, and met Aragorn's. 

Faramir stumbled as they touched, but Aragorn caught him before he fell, grasping his elbow. When Faramir looked up again, his eyes had cleared. "My lord," he said. "Aragorn." 

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, my friend," he said, lifting Faramir to his feet. "How fare you?" 

"I..." he paused. "I was trying to find the bridge, but knew not where to go," he said. "I am well enough now, I think." 

Aragorn patted his friend's shoulder. "Good," he said. "You must lead me off the bridge," he said. 

Faramir nodded, and did so. As they stepped off the bridge, Aragorn released Faramir's arm, taking stock of his surroundings for a moment. The mist moved slowly, but it was not cold or damp like an earthly fog. Nor did he feel any evil in the air as he had when he rescued Faramir and the others from the Black Breath. 

Faramir turned and looked at him, a question in his eyes, his face pale and drawn. Aragorn could almost feel his despair. "Let the dream come, Faramir." He reached for Faramir's shoulder and rubbed gently, hoping his friend felt the comfort he offered. 

After a moment, Faramir drew a deep breath, and his eyes closed. Aragorn felt the mist surrounding them move and shift, and when it cleared, they stood on the marble floor of the House of the Stewards in Rath Dínen. 

Aragorn stayed a shudder, but only barely. Gandalf had told him of what had happened, yet seeing it with his own eyes was different entirely. Faramir -- not the Faramir standing beside him, but the Faramir of the dream -- was lying on a table, insensate, with oil-soaked wood piled about him. Denethor was ranting, ordering confused servants hither and thither. 

"I have no conscious memory of what occurred here," Faramir said quietly. "Yet I see it in my dream, over and over." 

"I do not wonder," said Aragorn, reaching for Faramir's shoulder again, "For it is the stuff of nightmares." 

They watched as Gandalf entered with Pippin and Beregond. Denethor was mad, alternately pleading and arguing with Gandalf as he lifted Faramir and moved him from the oil-soaked table and brought him outside, placing him on the bier. 

Aragorn listened as Denethor ranted on, unsurprised when he accused Gandalf of trying to supplant him with Aragorn. When Gandalf asked him what his will was, Denethor said, "I would have things as they were in all the days of my life, and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard's pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honor abated." 

He drew a knife, and advanced toward Faramir, accusing Gandalf of having stolen "half my son's love." Faramir's head dropped as the scene played itself out, Denethor finally leaping onto the table and setting himself aflame.   
  
"Nothing I did ever met with his favor," Faramir said. "He loved me not." 

Aragorn knew not what to say; perhaps Denethor did love Faramir in his own twisted way, or perhaps he sought control over death, after being denied control over his realm and ultimately his own life. "I do not know, Faramir," he said. "Gandalf believes your father loved you, and I would not doubt him. But whatever your father's feelings, they were the product of his own shortcomings, not yours. It was not your fault that you were curious as a child and sought Gandalf's teachings, or committed whatever other imagined misdeeds for which your father blamed you." 

"Perhaps," Faramir said. "'Tis so strange here," he said, looking about. "It is the same as the nightmare, but without the terror." 

"That is because you control it, and there is no terror in what you control," Aragorn said. "What else is in your dream, Faramir?" 

Faramir laughed grimly, his face pale. "One would think that having his own father try to burn him alive would be the worst part of any day. But for me it was not. Or perhaps it was the day before... I do not remember." 

The mists swirled, and they were outdoors again, among the ruins of Osgiliath. The controlled chaos of a fast retreat was underway. Soldiers swarmed about, readying horses and weapons, packing whatever they could, and destroying whatever they must leave behind. Orcs were visible across the narrow shore. "We could not hold the river. We were readying a retreat to the Causeway Forts." 

"Where are you, Faramir?" 

Faramir pointed to a healer's tent in the distance, and they walked toward it and entered. Most of the beds were empty, but five or six were occupied. After a quick perusal, Aragorn could tell the men in those beds were unconscious and suffering from grave wounds -- far too grave to survive the trip back to the city, or even as far as the forts. He sucked in a horrified breath as he realized what he was likely to witness. 

The Faramir of the dream stood in the entry, a moment's hesitation in his step. Then he entered, and he approached the only remaining healer. 

"Go," Faramir said tersely. "The retreat is underway. Prepare to depart." 

"But, my lord," the healer protested. "I must see to moving these patients..." 

Faramir interrupted. "Go!" he ordered, speaking harshly and in a tone of voice Aragorn had never heard him use before. Aragorn recognized that voice, for he had used it himself; it was the tone of a captain making an impossibly difficult decision, irrevocably and finally. It was a tone that allowed no response and left no room for discussion or argument. 

Once the healer had left, Faramir's eyes closed for a moment, then he pulled his dagger from its sheath. He moved to each of the occupied beds, and Aragorn could hear whispered supplications to the Valar before he plunged the dagger swiftly and precisely into each heart. 

"Oh, Faramir," Aragorn whispered. "I knew not. I am so sorry." 

"Six men," Faramir said, his voice toneless. "Two of them rangers I had served with for years. Loyal, brave men all. And I killed them in their beds." 

"You had no choice," Aragorn said. "Abandoning them to the enemy would have been a fate far crueler. You did all that you could." 

"Perhaps," he said. "It matters not. They are dead. Death was all I had to offer that day." 

He walked out of the healer's tent, and Aragorn followed. When they stepped outside they were no longer in Osgiliath, but on the Pelennor, watching Faramir's retreat to the city. The city gates were in sight, but Faramir's men were suddenly overtaken and beset by a company of mounted Haradrim, with orcs following on foot. Turning his mounted company to face them, Faramir shouted to the foot soldiers to make haste for the gate. The Haradrim outnumbered Faramir's men, and they were hardy warriors, deftly wielding their blades and bows from horseback. His men died around him as Faramir fought on, wielding his sword with a fell hand. He was heedless of pain and fatigue, slaying one opponent after the next with barely a breath between. Faramir was fey, Aragorn saw, taken by battle lust, and he grieved for the toll this war had taken on his friend's heart and spirit. 

The situation was grim for Faramir and his men, and then it became worse. The air was pierced with the heart-stopping shriek of Nazgûl, and Aragorn stilled the shiver that chased down his spine. Some men panicked and ran, only to be swiftly picked off by the wraiths' fell beasts as they were separated from the others. Faramir appeared undaunted, moving deftly to avoid the creatures as he continued to slay his enemies while advancing the retreat toward the gates. 

Aragorn was amazed that Faramir's men held out as long as they did, outnumbered and chilled into utter terror by the Nazgûl, yet hold out they did. Hope finally came -- the gates opened, and Prince Imrahil and a company of his knights came forth, fierce and proud, their blue and silver banner held high. "Amroth for Gondor!" they cried. "Amroth to Faramir!" 

Gandalf went before them all, flying past the knights on Shadowfax. But even as the Nazgûl were chased away by the light shining like a beacon from Gandalf's staff, Faramir was engaging a mounted warrior of Harad, barely holding his own against twin scimitars that sliced swiftly through the air. He had no attention to spare elsewhere, and even as deliverance hastened toward him, a dart flew through the air and struck his shoulder, and Faramir tumbled to the ground. 

"I remember naught after," Faramir said as the mists swirled around them again, "Until I awoke in the dark place where you found me." 

"That is not in your nightmare?" Aragorn asked. 

"Nay," Faramir answered, his eyes meeting Aragorn's. "The dark place holds no terror for me, for it was there that you found me, and called me back. When I awoke, you were there, and I knew you as the King returned." For a moment, his gaze was calm, but as he looked away, the mists swirled once more, and everything began to darken. The air turned cold and chill, reminding Aragorn of the dark realm from which he had rescued Faramir once before. Yet they were still on the Pelennor, for the sounds of the battle continued to pierce the air around them. 

Aragorn felt a surge of fear pulse through him, and he reached for Faramir's forearm. "Faramir!" he called. 

But when he saw Faramir's eyes, they had gone black once again, as if he had slipped into some other realm. "_I 'wilith morn,_" Faramir muttered, studying the sky. _The air is black_. 

Aragorn could not see the sky above them any longer, but he could hear the Nazgûl shrieking, and on the field, dying men were screaming in pain. "Faramir! _Pertho i faer lín dan o uial_!" he called. _Turn your spirit back from the twilight._

But Faramir backed away from him rapidly, something akin to panic in his eyes. "Faramir!" Aragorn could no longer see him in the darkness, and he stumbled, falling to the ground. He covered his ears as one of the Nazgûl swooped to the ground, the fell beast on which it rode coming straight towards him, its jaws opening... 

He heard a voice in his mind, echoing as if from a distance. "_Echuiro_, Elessar! _Echuiro_, Faramir! Awake!" 

He blinked his eyes open, his heart pounding as he tried to catch his breath. He was in Lothlórien, and the Lady was standing between the beds on which he and Faramir lay, one of her hands clasping each of theirs. 

He drew a deep breath and sat up, hearing a cry from the other bed. Galadriel released their hands and staggered backwards. 

"Lady!" one of her attendants cried, leading her to a padded bench at the foot of Aragorn's bed. Legolas was there, his eyes darting from Galadriel to Faramir, and Aragorn's eyes followed his. Faramir was unconscious and perspiring, as he had been after he fainted on the practice field. 

Aragorn swung his legs over the edge of the bed, going to Galadriel first. He knelt before her, taking her hand gently. "My lady," he said as her eyes opened. "How fare you?" 

Her gaze penetrated to the depths of his soul, and he felt her mind touch his. He did not fight the intrusion, but allowed her to make her own assessment of his condition, even as he tried to assess hers. "I am well enough," she said. "We will speak later, Elessar. See to your young Prince." 

Bowing his head to her, he rose and went to Faramir. Legolas was already on the other side of the bed, holding Aragorn's herb satchel. He took it, nodding his thanks, avoiding Legolas's worried glance. 

Faramir was indeed feverish, and over the next hour Aragorn tended him, Legolas at his side. Faramir woke briefly, for which Aragorn was glad. He was lucid but very weary, and without argument he drank the draught Aragorn had prepared. When he slipped into sleep, Aragorn went to his own bed, nearly staggering under the weight of his own exhaustion.   



	6. Chapter 6

When he awoke the next morning, Aragorn felt better, though the weariness lingered. Faramir was still in other the bed, sleeping. Aragorn examined him with a light touch, unwilling to disturb his sleep, and was gratified to discover the fever had broken during the night. 

He found Legolas in the outer chamber, and as he sank into a chair, he was handed a cup of tea. He murmured his thanks, lifting his eyes to his friend's. Legolas's expression was placid, but his eyes betrayed his concern. 

"Faramir is improved," Aragorn said quietly. "His fever broke, and he should recover quickly." He served himself from the breakfast that had been laid on the sideboard, discovering that he was famished. 

"I am glad to hear it," Legolas said. "Please tell me, Aragorn, that you do not intend to attempt this again, for both Faramir's sake and your own?" 

"It is for Faramir's sake that I must," he said, as Legolas sighed. "Legolas, I do not wish to speak of this now. It may be irrelevant -- I am uncertain the Lady will try again, and unless she will, we cannot proceed." 

"She wishes to speak with you, when you are able," he said. 

He nodded as he continued eating. Between mouthfuls, he said, "I will prepare another potion for Faramir, then attend her. Will you see that he drinks it, when he wakes?" 

Legolas nodded, and did not speak further as Aragorn finished his breakfast, then began working on another draught. He knew his friend was unhappy, concerned for both him and for Faramir, yet there was little Aragorn could do to assuage his worry. Either there would be danger to him, or Faramir would not find the healing he sorely needed. Legolas might have his doubts, but Aragorn had none as to which risk he would choose. 

ooooo 

Faramir awoke weary, but clear-headed. He shuddered as he recalled what they had seen in the dreamworld -- the memories were much clearer than memories of the dreams themselves. He forced his legs over the side of the bed, and after a few moments attending to necessities, he entered the outer room to find Legolas there. 

"Good morrow," Legolas said, as Faramir took a seat at the table. "How do you feel today?" 

"Weary," he said, "but not unwell." 

Legolas nodded. "There is food, and Aragorn left another draught for you." 

Legolas's voice was calm, but Faramir sensed his unease. "What disturbs you, Legolas?" He began swallowing the bitter draught. 

For a long moment, he said nothing, then his gaze met Faramir's. "Do you remember aught of last night?" 

Faramir thought a moment; he remembered the dreamworld, but nothing else before waking up this morning. "No," he admitted. "Aragorn and I were there, and I was remembering something, then everything became cold, and very dark. Then I woke up this morning." 

Legolas looked away, as if he was unsure he should speak. His voice was quietly intense. "The Lady felt Aragorn's spirit being pulled away," he said. "She had to force you both to wake." 

Fear began to grow in his heart. "What are you saying?" 

The clear blue eyes finally met his. "I am saying that Aragorn was almost pulled into the darkness of your dream, his mind trapped there. It was only the Lady's force of will that drew him back. Otherwise, he might have been trapped there, even after you awoke." 

"Did Aragorn know this might happen?" Legolas merely looked at him, his eyebrow raised. "Of course he did," Faramir muttered. "And he did not tell me." 

"He knew you would not put him at risk, Faramir," he said. "It was his decision, and he still wishes to try again." 

"Absolutely not," Faramir said firmly. 

A voice standing in the doorway spoke. "It was my risk to accept, and it still is," Aragorn said as he entered, pointedly glancing in Legolas's direction. "The Lady is willing to try again, and so am I." 

"I will not do it, Aragorn!" Faramir said. "Putting the King at risk -- it is absurd." 

Aragorn did not reply, but Legolas rose and moved towards the door. "I will take my leave," he said. "Aragorn..." Aragorn merely shook his head, and clasped Legolas on the shoulder. With a nod, the Elf departed, and Aragorn took the chair beside Faramir's. 

"You should have told me," Faramir said. His feelings were a mix of anger and concern, combined with something else, something that would have brought joy if it had not meant putting Aragorn's life in danger -- a glimmer of understanding that Aragorn believed in him enough to accept such a risk. 

"Perhaps," Aragorn admitted. "I did not because I knew you would resist if you felt there was any danger to me." 

"You cannot risk yourself for me!" Faramir said. 

"But I can," he said. "It is my risk to accept, as someone who cares for you and would see you free from these nightmares." 

"But..." 

"Faramir," he said wearily, "I know the arguments. But I choose to do this." 

"Why?" he asked. 

"Why?" Aragorn said, surprised. "Do you really need to ask me that?" Faramir's eyes fell at the intensity of his gaze. "Did we not discuss this in Minas Tirith?" he asked. "You told me there we were friends, and you were sorry you had not asked for my help." 

"We are," Faramir said. "And I was... I still regret I did not." 

"To accept friendship is more than asking for help, but accepting the help that is offered," he said. "This is the only way I could help you. I did so in friendship, because I would have you well, Faramir," he said. 

"But -- to put yourself at risk --" 

"I have been putting myself at risk for a long time now," Aragorn said dryly. "Usually, risk far worse than I did here. For as good a reason, or better, than any risk I have accepted before," he said. "I would have you simply accept the help I offer, in the spirit of friendship in which it is offered." 

Aragorn's eyes pierced his heart, filled with calm certainty, the absolute knowledge that he had chosen the right path. Faramir found it was impossible to deny him. He nodded in resignation, and said a silent prayer to the Valar that he was not making a terrible mistake. 

ooooo 

It was easier, the second time, to find the bridge, and each other. To Aragorn's eyes, Faramir was steady and calm, taking Aragorn's arm and leading him from the bridge into the mists. Faramir glanced about, then closed his eyes. 

Walls appeared around them as the mist cleared, white walls made of stone, and they found themselves in a chamber somewhere in Minas Tirith, in the Citadel, from its rich appearance. Faramir drew a harsh breath as the mist cleared further, revealing a woman in a bed, with two young children at one side of the bed, a man at the other. 

Aragorn drew a deep breath of his own as he recognized Finduilas, although only barely, for the woman in the bed bore little resemblance to the young, cheerful woman he had met during his service to Ecthelion. She was not yet forty years old, he knew, yet she appeared much older. She was thin, so thin, her face gaunt, her hair grey. The sound of her breathing echoed through the stone chamber, each breath a clear torment. Faramir's mother was dying. 

He glanced at Faramir, who was standing next to him stoically, his expression unreadable. He said a silent prayer to the Valar that Faramir would find healing through this, for it was surely the most unspeakable of torments, to relive such moments over and again. If it was for naught... 

"Naneth!" The smaller of the two boys -- Faramir, he knew -- plucked at Finduilas's bedclothes, reaching for her hand. 

"Faramir," she whispered, her hand lifting to touch his face. "Such a dear boy." She looked at the older of the two. "You must look after him, Boromir. Your father will need you." 

The boy's eyes were solemn, his voice filled with sorrow. "I will, Naneth, I promise you." He reached down and kissed her cheek. 

"I know you will, my darling." She coughed, and the man -- Denethor -- supported her back as she sat up to cough, covering her mouth with a handkerchief. It was speckled red when she drew it away. 

"Boys," Denethor said, firmly but not unkindly, "You must go now." 

Boromir nodded, leaning down to kiss her once more, but young Faramir began to cry and sob, even as Boromir took his hand and led him from the room. "Naneth!" he cried again. "Naneth!" It was clear he knew something was terribly wrong, but he was simply too young to understand. Boromir picked him up and carried him, but the child would not be comforted, sobbing into his brother's shoulder. 

Finally, the door closed behind the children, and Faramir spoke. "I do not recall my mother ever being well. My only memories of her are when she was ill, and then she was just gone. I never knew whether my birth was the cause of her illness, but I think in his heart my father believed it so." 

"If he held that against you, Faramir..." 

"It lacked in reason, I know," he said wearily. "But it mattered not, did it?" 

Aragorn felt the air shift, and the mist slowly cleared. They were outdoors, on the banks of the Anduin. The mist shrouded the water and the trees beyond, but as he gazed out at the river, a gray boat floated in the distance, and knew immediately what it was they were seeing. 

"Boromir," he whispered. 

"Aye," Faramir said. "I see this in my nightmare. 'Tis the waking vision, how I knew of Boromir's death." 

They moved easily through the water toward the boat, which slowed as they approached. 

"I loved him so much," he said, gazing down at the face so beloved to him, now grey and lifeless. "When I was a boy, I worshipped him. After our mother died, and Father grew distant, he was all I had in Minas Tirith. He listened to me, supported me, did whatever he could to protect me." 

Faramir's eyes were fixed on the still figure in the boat, but his voice was level and calm. 

"When I began to train, I was tall and awkward, and the armsmasters despaired of ever making a proper soldier of me. It was Boromir who thought I would progress more away from Father's constant scrutiny, so he persuaded Father to let me spend a year in Dol Amroth, training with Uncle's esquires and knights. It was not only the happiest time I'd had since our mother died, but in Dol Amroth I learned I wasn't as hopeless as I'd been in Minas Tirith." 

His lips curved at the memory. "I found I was quite good with a bow, and while my swordsmanship was not distinguished, it was competent. I found some self-respect and confidence, too. When I returned, and Boromir saw how much I'd flourished away from the Court, he convinced Father to send me to Ithilien. Without that year in Dol Amroth, I'd have been sent to a regular company, unskilled, unsure of myself. I would have been dead in my first skirmish." Faramir's eyes were still fixed on the figure in the boat, and his voice was steady but full of sorrow. "He gave me so much, and asked for nothing in return." 

"He loved you dearly," Aragorn said, feeling his throat tighten. "He was so proud of you, Faramir. He spoke of you often, and with such love and affection." 

"Boromir," Faramir whispered, as he gazed down at his brother's lifeless body. "It should have been me, my brother." 

"Why say you that, Faramir?" Aragorn asked softly. "It was not your doing." 

"It was my dream, my cursed dream, that led Boromir to Imladris, and to his death." 

"Did Boromir not have the dream too?" Aragorn asked. 

"Yes," Faramir said bitterly. "After I told him of it. Who can say whether he dreamed it true, or my telling of it?" 

"It was not your dream that killed your brother," Aragorn said, "nor the quest for Imladris, which you would have undertaken yourself, had your father given you leave." The boat began to move away, and as they watched, Aragorn drew a deep breath. "If Boromir's death is any man's fault, it is mine," he said quietly. 

Faramir snapped around to look at him. "Yours? Indeed not." 

"Perhaps it is. For I knew the Ring called him, and I should have kept a closer watch. That encounter with Frodo should never have happened, and had it not, Boromir might have lived." 

"You cannot blame yourself for that!" 

"Why not?" Aragorn asked. "You blame yourself for a dream and decisions that were not yours. Why should I not blame myself for insufficient vigilance over a situation I knew was dangerous?" 

Faramir's eyes met his. "I know not." 

"We must both lay him to rest, Faramir. He would not want you to suffer this. He would call it folly." 

Faramir almost smiled at that, though his eyes were sad. "And he would say that I think too much." 

"Perhaps we both do," Aragorn said quietly. 

"He made me what I am. If there is any use in me, as captain, warrior, or man, then all credit belongs to him." 

Aragorn took Faramir's forearm, and turned him, commanding his gaze. "You are all those things, Faramir, and more. And there is more than just 'use' in you. Do you not know this? How can you not?" Aragorn felt the glimmer of understanding in a corner of his mind. 

Faramir's gaze was steady as he met Aragorn's. Then his eyes closed for a moment, and the mist shimmered around them. The river disappeared beneath their feet, replaced by a forest floor. 

They were in a glen, but something was odd. The trees and plants surrounding them were in strange combination, and Aragorn moved around, examining them more closely. The trees were a species he had seen in Harad, with large, fanlike leaves. Long shoots grew from the trunk, yellow in color and narrow, and soft to the touch, for within the shoots was a substance from which the Haradrim extracted a highly toxic poison they used in their darts. 

On the ground, fern-like leaves sprouted, and Aragorn recognized them from his travels in Mirkwood. The leaves were not dangerous, but contact with the skin produced an unpleasant rash. Nearby were shrubs of northern Eriador, pretty and green, but the berries they grew resulted in a nasty stomach ailment if consumed. Underneath the shrub, a yellow-brown species of mushroom native to the Misty Mountains grew, but unlike the berries, ingesting a small bit would result in uncontrollable bleeding and death. Harad, Mirkwood, Eriador, the mountains... nowhere in nature would this combination of plants grow together. And they had only one thing in common. 

"Poison," he said, speaking aloud for the first time since the mists had cleared. "All of these plants are poison." 

"No," Faramir said calmly. "It is me. I am poison to those who I love." 

Aragorn turned to face him, disbelieving. 

"Don't you see?" he asked, emotion building in his voice. "My mother, my father, my brother. Men who trusted me to lead them to safety, killed by my own knife!" 

His pain-filled eyes filled Aragorn with sadness. "You cannot believe this," Aragorn said quietly. "You know the truth of how your family died. You know the truth of war." 

Faramir sank to the ground a few feet away. "'Tis best to stay away from me, Aragorn, lest you be next. Who is to say that I will not be the death of everyone I love, given enough time? Leave me here, where I can do no harm to those I love. You, Éowyn, my uncle and cousins -- you are all better off without me. Leave me, I beg you." 

"I am better off without you?" he repeated. 

"I could have killed you on the practice field! You might still be lost in this nightmare that has become my only true existence!" 

"You speak nonsense," Aragorn said tersely, and Faramir's eyes snapped up to meet his. "And you should know better." 

"Indeed," Faramir said bitterly. 

"Indeed," Aragorn replied, kneeling beside him. His voice softened, and he laid a gentle but firm hand on Faramir's shoulder. "This is guilt that speaks, and sorrow. And while you have ample cause for sorrow, the guilt is sadly misplaced. And you are wrong," he added. "I would not be better off without you. I would be far worse, for I need you, and more important, I choose to have you by my side." 

Faramir's gaze met his, and the sorrow he saw there reached to the depths of his soul. "I would be by your side, my lord, if I could. But..." 

He took Faramir's chin in his hand, turning him until their eyes met. "You are not poison, Faramir! You are the farthest thing from it... you have a fair heart and wise soul. You must release this torment you inflict upon yourself to the winds! It is the real poison." 

"It is like a great weight, pressing me down," Faramir whispered. 

"I know. You must cast it away. I know you have the strength within you to do so," he said. The air began to swirl again, and quickly the sky grew dark and the air chill, as it had the first time, just before the Lady had pulled them out of the dreamworld. His heart began to pound, and he knew this was their last chance, the final moment in which they would succeed or fail. 

With one hand he grasped Faramir's shoulder, and felt Faramir shuddering in the cold air. "Stay with me, Faramir," he said. "The darkness comes, but you can banish it if you wish to, you can send the nightmares away forever. Just let go of the pain." Fear gripped his heart as Faramir's eyes began to darken. "You are not poison," he said firmly. "You never were. I believe in you, Faramir. So does Éowyn. Does does Imrahil. If you trust in nothing else, trust that." 

Faramir's head dropped a moment, but Aragorn gently lifted his chin, holding his gaze, and his eyes began to clear again. "You can have everything you have ever wished for, Faramir, the life you have always desired. All you need do is reach out for it." 

For a long moment, their gaze held. The air around them shimmered again, and the darkness began to lighten. As the air around them warmed, they found themselves on a tall hill covered with cool green grass. He saw Faramir's eyes drift closed, as if at their own accord, then his did the same. 

When he opened his eyes again, they were in Lothlórien, in their beds, the Lady close by. He turned towards Faramir, whose eyes were already open, and Faramir's arm reached out across the space between them. 

Aragorn grasped the proffered arm in his own, a familiar warrior's embrace they had shared before -- but this time, warmed by genuine friendship.   



	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Faramir was gone when Aragorn arose. "He went for a walk," Legolas said. At Aragorn's rather sharp glance, he continued, "He seemed quite well, Aragorn, strong, and in good color. I offered to go with him, but he said he wished to walk alone for a time." 

Aragorn nodded. "I am sorry for doubting your judgment, my friend." 

"'Tis of no matter," Legolas said, his voice calm. 

"But it is," he replied. "I know your concern has only been for my well-being these past days, and I have given little enough credit to it. For that I am sorry." 

He offered his hand to Legolas, who grasped it in return. "You are loyal to your friends to a fault, Aragorn, I only wish it did not lead you down such dangerous paths." 

He smiled. "Speaking of paths... I believe I will try to follow Faramir's," he said, taking his leave. 

He found Faramir sitting on the banks of a stream, regarding the water as it rushed by. He did not notice Aragorn's presence until he sat beside him, then he smiled a silent greeting. Aragorn was pleased to see that his condition was much improved, as Legolas had said. His skin held good color, and his eyes were clear, though they still held a lingering sadness. 

"How fare you today, Faramir?" he said quietly. 

"I am well," he replied with a wan smile. "I slept true for the first time in months, I deem." 

"Yet your eyes still reflect a sadness within," Aragorn said. 

"Perhaps," he acknowledged. "I remember everything we saw so clearly, much more clearly than I recalled from the nightmares." 

"What we saw gives much cause for sadness." Aragorn said. "Do you allow yourself to feel it? Even during the horrors and sorrows we saw in the dreamworld, you did not weep, Faramir, not once." 

His voice was quiet, bereft of feeling. "I could not shed enough tears in my lifetime." 

"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But you are not a man given to holding his feelings so close. It helped the nightmares come." 

Faramir regarded him steadily, but did not speak. 

"I accuse you not of wrongdoing or weakness," Aragorn said. "But you cannot begin to move past the pain and the terror until you acknowledge it. Let yourself grieve, Faramir. For your brother, your father. The men you mercied in Osgiliath, and the ones who fell on the Pelennor. For everything and everyone you have lost in this long campaign." 

"I remember them all, Aragorn," Faramir's voice was tight and forced, but the emotional armor with which he had shielded himself was starting to melt away. "Not only my father and brother, and my friends. But every man who died under my command. I remember them all." His voice had begun to shake. 

"Then consider yourself fortunate, my friend," Aragorn sighed. "For it is when you no longer care enough to remember that you are truly lost." 

The tears began then, slowly, silently. Faramir tried to turn away, but Aragorn would not let him, offering a steadying hand on his shoulder. For a while, Aragorn said nothing -- there was nothing he could say, he knew. Faramir had seen too much, had suffered every time a man under his command was struck down. Added to the loss of his beloved brother, and the horror of his father's death, it was nothing short of a miracle that he had managed to cope as well as he had. 

"Feeling such grief and pain is not weakness, Faramir. It does not unman you. The only weakness you have shown is your lack of faith in those who love you, those who would help you through this, if you permit them," he said gently. 

Faramir wiped his eyes, then turned away. "My father would not have thought so." 

"He was wrong!" Aragorn bit back a curse at Denethor for the cruel legacy he had left his surviving son. 

He looked back at Aragorn. "Do you share your grief?" 

Aragorn stifled a snort of surprise at the question. "The night we won the War -- when all were celebrating -- the weight of all that had been lost struck me harder than a troll's hammer. My foster brother Elladan held me in his arms for hours as I grieved for Halbarad and my other friends lost at the Black Gate and on the Pelennor. I wept until I had no tears left," he recalled somberly. "And you may, if you wish, ask Legolas or Gimli of the tears we shed for Boromir." 

At that, their eyes met. "I used to grieve," Faramir said. "When I learned of Boromir's death, and my father's, I wept. But once the War was over, there was so much to think on, so much to do, and there was joy, too." Faramir's eyes flickered over him, and Aragorn knew a part of Faramir's joy had come from the King's return. "The sorrow felt out of place, wrong, and I pushed it away when it beckoned. And so it has been long since I allowed myself to weep." 

"Grief is different for each of us, and it lingers for as long as it will. There is no shame in grieving even as better days return." He still grieved for those he had lost in the War, and in the long years leading up to it, and for his mother. "Embrace the days ahead, but grieve as you must. And seek solace with those who care for you most," he said. "I would have you happy, Faramir. If the memories of battle pain you, and you never wish to lift a sword or bow again, in practice or in war, then you should not. You have done enough. And the Valar know there is enough else for you to do." 

Faramir's lips curved gently; it was almost a smile. "If it had been left to me, I would not have chosen a soldier's life." 

"I know, my friend, and it need not be your life any longer." 

"You risked your life to save me," Faramir said. "I have not thanked you." 

"There is no need for thanks. Had our places been reversed, I know you would have done the same." 

"That is true, but it would have been my duty to do so," Faramir said, his eyes meeting Aragorn's. 

"Is it mine any less?" he asked. "'Fealty with love,' Faramir, is also part of that vow. Though you are more than worthy of any help I could offer, even were I not sworn to it." He stood, offering Faramir an arm up. "You have seen little of the Golden Wood," Aragorn said. "We must leave soon for Edoras, but we have today." 

Faramir nodded, and Aragorn led the way into the woods to show his friend Lothlórien's many wonders. 

ooooo 

Narquelië 3020 T.A.   
Edoras 

"Faramir!" she cried, running down the Golden Hall's steps to greet him. Arwen was just behind her, approaching her own husband more quietly, but with no less enthusiasm. 

He smiled, sweeping Éowyn into an embrace. "Faramir, how fare you?" she breathed into his ear, and he could feel her tension. 

"I am well," he said firmly, taking her hands in his as she pulled back to look into his eyes. They lit with a smile as she recognized the sincerity in his words. 

"Oh," she said softly. "I am so relieved, so happy. Arwen told me what had happened, and I could not help but worry." 

He led her away from the others, to the edge of the portico. "I know, and for that I am sorry." 

"You need not be," she said. "I am just glad you are well. You were able to find healing in the Golden Wood?" she asked. 

"Aye," he said, his eyes flickering towards Aragorn. "Healing I found there, and much more. I will tell you everything, when we have time to ourselves. But I believe there is a wedding approaching, is there not?" 

"Yes," she smiled. "It promises to be glorious. Lothíriel and her family arrived with Arwen last week, and she and Éomer are so happy. They have a bright future ahead of them." 

He wrapped his arms around her again, reveling in her strong and sure embrace. Across the portico, he saw Aragorn and Arwen similarly entwined. As his eyes met Aragorn's, he felt the King's warm affection toward them both. He and Éowyn had much to discuss indeed, but for now, he was content, his heart truly at ease. 

"I am sure they do," he said, replying to her comment about Éomer and his cousin before dropping a light kiss on her lips. "There are bright futures ahead, I think, for us all." 

The End 

ooooo 

Author's Notes: 

-- The idea that Faramir killed some of his wounded men during the retreat was inspired by Isabeau of Greenlea's _Captain My Captain_, and is used here with her kind permission. 

-- I know there is some authority in the History of Middle-earth for the idea that Eowyn would have learned Sindarin as a child in Rohan, but I decided not to go that route. 

-- The words Denethor speaks in Rath Dinen are taken verbatim from _Return of the King._

-- Among other sources, I did some research on dreamwalking at this site: 

-- For the Elvish, I used a variety of sources. Mistakes are mine. Thanks to Aerlinnel at HASA for help on conjugating _goheno_. 

-- Thanks for reading this far! Any comments are appreciated -- e-mail, in my forum, wherever.   



End file.
